


She is (at) home

by IamInadequate



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Basically only fluffy, F/M, Fluff, Reunion, What-If, really - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-08
Updated: 2017-09-08
Packaged: 2018-12-25 11:04:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12034575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IamInadequate/pseuds/IamInadequate
Summary: Davos brought Gendry to the King in the North.The King in the North brought Gendry to the North.And the North brought Gendry to Arya.





	She is (at) home

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a reunion!what if, I used the plot of the show and I mixed it with some books' events. I am not a huge fan of the show, but this little thing wasn't leaving my head.  
> Hope you enjoy this.

_Tlunk_  
_Tlunk_  
_Tlunk_

Winter was coming and yet Davos was sweating. He was sweating in those Lannister forges, under the goldcloaks' eyes. He was sweating because he didn't have any time to waste.  
How many forges there were in Flea Bottom? Too many, apparently.  
But he knew it. The lad was there, somewhere.  
And at the fourth or mayhaps the fourteenth forge, there he was. Soot and sweat on his arms, eyes as blue as the sea itself.  
Older, angrier.  
Gendry was swinging his hammer, frowning at the kink he couldn't work out from a plate.  
He was so focused on his work he didn't see him at first.  
«Lad.»  
He didn't jump either.  
Mayhaps he knew he was there.  
He slowly narrowed his eyes from the steel and his mouth twitched in something that vaguely resembled a smile.  
«M'lord. It's time, right?» he gently put the hammer away and took a little bag from under his bed.  
«You'll need a sword as well.»  
Gendry shook his head. «I know nothing of swords, my Lord.» he was clenching a hammer in his fist. A war hammer. It was plain but polished, simple yet deadly. «I'm not sure I'm better with this, I'm no fighter. But I know how to swing it. Done it all my life.»  
Davos nodded.

*

He was Clovis.  
He was a smith from King's Landing.  
Lord Davos said so and he just need to repeat the name.  
The King in the North wouldn't care about Flea Bottom's scum, he would just nod and Gendry would be free to work in the mine and to craft daggers and maybe swords.  
Dragonglass was rare. Dragonglass was fascinating. Not Valeryan steel, but close.  
It was exciting.  
And then he saw him: the King in the North. He wasn't that tall and he was young, he was around his age and yet his eyes were deeper, older.  
Looking at those grey eyes was like looking at _her_ eyes. He knew Jon Snow was king, he knew he was her brother, but he wasn't ready to see so much of her in her bastard sibling.  
Davos was talking about him to the King.  
«My name is Gendry. I'm Robert Baratheon's bastard son.» he said, because he couldn't lie to him, not when she was so alive in that man.  
«I owe your father my life. I owe Lord Davos my life, I owe your sister so much more than that, I don't care about lions or stags or wolves, but I'll be loyal to you because I owe your family so much.»  
Jon Snow was quiet.  
He was studying him with those eyes. «My sister... Sansa?» he than asked.  
«No, your Grace. Arya. I don't know what happened to her after they took me, though.»  
Jon Snow's eyes narrowed a little. He knew she loved him with all her heart and Gendry could see his love for her in his tensed shoulders and his sigh.  
That name had been locked in between his lips for so long. She was dead, presumably. She was a ghostly remorse who liked to float in his head, when the night was at its darkest point.  
He tried to mask his sorrow, but he wasn't a good actor. «She is at home.»  
Gendry opened his mouth, then he closed it. «She is with our sister Sansa and our brother Bran, at Winterfell.»  
The smith wanted to ask a thousand questions, but he couldn't. There wasn't any time to spare. He just felt an odd itch at his hands and an hitch into his stomach.

 

*

Jon was looking at his sister Arya. She was dancing with her sword; she was slashing and stabbing the air, her feet were trained to follow an invisible path. Always different, always deadly, he was sure.  
Sansa had whispered into his ear what little she knew about Arya's past: “Faceless Man” was the word she had sighed, quivering.  
Jon wanted to ask her himself but he didn't. He had told himself it was because he was running out of time, but in reality he dreaded to know what his little sister had suffered.  
She was darker. Like Sansa and Bran. Like himself probably. She didn't smile that much, she was always so quiet and on the edge. Sometimes he had seen the old Arya when she was with Ghost, her hands in its white fur; but the child in her was gone.  
It was a freezing morning, her skin was red and her breath an icy mist. Jon wanted to call her inside, but then the gates opened and two men came.  
Gendry and Davos were awkward on their horses, Gendry was all tight lipped and furrowed brows, like he tried to control his animal with his mind.  
Then Arya was there, curious and shocked and so different from the previous days. He knew she and Gendry knew each others, he hadn't had the time to really ask anything, but now he was curious.

Gendry dismounted, as awkward as ever around a horse, in front of Arya. She was there, alive and breathing; and she was a pretty young lady now, dressed as someone who was ready to fight or to get away. She had her little sword and a dagger, she was so different yet so her.  
«Gendry.»  
«M'lady.» he bowed and felt her groan. «Or maybe I should say “my princess”.»  
«Don't.»  
«Your brother told me you were alive, so I was hoping I'd see you with that acorn dress again, you were nice.»

Arya was so still, Jon was sure she was going to kill Gendry. But then he heard it: her laugh. It was an odd yet warm sound, it was so powerful he could almost see their father in that same courtyard with Robb and Rickon, laughing at something silly with her.  
She laughed and trembled, then she was in Gendry's arms, whispering in his collarbone. It was strange, it was so intimate. 

And then Gendry was on his back in the ground, Arya was laughing at his aghast face.

*

Gendry was working like a crazy man. He couldn't waste any moment, the army of the dead was coming and they needed to be ready. They were probably going to die, yet he was content to be in the forge of Winterfell, with Arya sat on a bench, looking at him working.  
It was like they were back at Harrenhal or better, in one of her promises.  
«I'm working for your King brother, like you promised me.» he said, sharpening a dagger.  
«How did you find my brother?» she asked, a little breathless.  
He told her about the Red Witch, about ser Davos, about coming back to Flea Bottom.  
«I am a royal bastard, you know? Still too bloody lowborn to be your brother, though.» he smiled, remembering that night in the brothel.  
Arya stood up. «You are so stupid.» she accused, a distant smile on her lips. «I couldn't see you as my brother. You were... are so different from them. In a good way.»  
Gendry looked at her, his ears a little red. She then vanished.

*

The raven came, black as their future. The Wall shattered under the breath of Daenerys Targaryen's dragon and now the dead were marching south.

*

Sansa needed to find her sister. They had to talk and she had to persuade Arya to stay at home, where she was safer, because she couldn't lose her family again. Since when that smith was at Winterfell, Arya was always in the forge or in the courtyard with him, training and yelling and rolling in the mud.  
She was at the forge, she could see them talking animatedly. Good, she would listen to the smith! And then they were suddenly really close so Sansa was now eavesdropping.  
«Arya, you are so stubborn.» his voice was beaten, his eyes full of misery.  
«So are you. You can stay here.» she smirked, but then she sighed, resigned.  
The smith's hands were now on Arya's shoulders and Sansa wanted to enter or leave, she wasn't sure. It was indecent and scandalous.  
Their stares.  
Their touch.  
Their way to talk.  
And then the way they were kissing.

So Sansa left.

**Author's Note:**

> I posted this using my phone so I don't know how is the final effect with HTML and shit like that. And the mistakes are all mine because English is still not my first language.  
> Thanks for reading, I love you all.


End file.
